Race Report: Run As One/TGL Classic (4-Miler)

Sometimes it feels like all I do is just run in races and write or talk about it. At least lately what I’m writing about is fairly positive.

At 9 this morning there was another overly well-attended race in Central Park. It was a 4-miler, and I knew I could approach it in one of two ways. After two recent consecutive race P.R.s in a row, I could race the 4-miler fast until I puked. Or with the Boston Marathon just over a week away, I could glide through slowly and enjoy the scenery. So which approach do you think I used? If you’ve read anything here before and retained it, you know it’s not approach #2.

Bring on the barf bags.

Aware of my previous 4-mile P.R. of 25:47 from ’03, I lined up. The New York Road Runners have an elite runner corral at the front of their races, and your pal Cranky qualified for that recently with an age-graded (don’t ask me what 'age-graded' means, I’m not sure myself) time of 72% or better. So I’m allowed to hang with the 5:40 minute/mile skinny kids in the front of the pack, roped off from the hapless folks who run just a little slower than I do. Today the elite runners were packed like sardines, myself included, but it was nice to not be stuck behind the few walkers who rudely position themselves up front in every race. And I know there were a lot of them and runners, too, over 6000 were behind me.

The starting gun sounded, and off we went up Cat Hill, and I don’t know which I hate more, immediately running up a steep hill in a race or hearing myself complain about the same damn hill, race after race. And on that hill I got passed like crazy, runners unable to make it to the elite corral were making up for lost time and losing their minds flying up, up, up. I kept a good pace, but soon discovered I was breathing a little too rapidly and also realized it was not going to get any easier until I got on the other side of the finish line.

I passed the first mile marker at about 6:22 and vowed to at least try to keep the same pace. And runners were still passing me like the apocalypse was coming right behind us. It started to get harder for me, but I made a conscious effort to tune out the other runners and to relax and ease into the pace I’d set. Nobody wearing headphones in this crowd; these runners meant business.

So I rounded the loop and started heading south to the finish with two miles to go. Rolling hills made it tough, and I’m relieved that on one of them I find myself with about six other runners at the same, all of us with a slowing pace, struggling to make it. I’d done this loop a million times, so I knew I hadn’t much time left. I started to think ‘there’s no shame in stopping for water, if a P.R. is not happening, that’s fine, don’t injure yourself’ followed by ‘as much as you want to stop, don’t blow a P.R. on a 10-second trip to the side of the road’. Of course, I didn’t stop, because today’s headline is ‘Cranky The Schizo Runner Races Again’.

Finally, finally, finally, I rounded the left hand turn towards the finish line. And through the brain fog I see 25 minutes and change on the clock. And I HAULED it. Once I crossed the line my watch said… 25:25. Later that afternoon the on-line results would list 25:33, but that clock can bite the big one ‘cause I still beat my previous time. Though I felt like I was getting run over by 5- and 6-minute milers most of the way, I still managed a P.R., the third race in a row. For a brief moment in time, I allowed myself the distinction of being Mr. All That. I forgot to mention it was an NYC team ‘points race’ that brought out all the city’s race fiends wearing their organization’s uniforms. So I was up against speed demons, though considering I’ve been called, and sometimes go by, Satan, I was right at home. Plenty of runners finished before I did (about 300), but I was so happy to be finished with my own personal speedwork of the day I didn’t care.

One more thing. Several women right before the race kept smiling at me and saying hello, and I couldn’t figure out why. Then it dawned on me; some had seen me cheerleading at last week’s More Marathon and had remembered me along the way. Good karma, people. Give it back, and it comes back to you. And if that kind of karma can help shave off 3 seconds per mile like it did for me today, I’ll take it.

Since I was too busy keeping breakfast down on the course, I didn’t take any pictures. Suffice it to say it was another cold, gray day out there. Spring tried to arrive yesterday, but it keeps getting beat back. Which mans less seasonal tranistion time to 'hot as hell'.

So it was, in the end, a good day. Since I am psychologically unable to bask in too much self-inflicted glory for very long, by Wednesday I’ll be back to worrying about and obsessing over Boston weather forecasts…

(Postscript, or 'Prescript', perhaps: the week started off with a nice swim workout followed by an encouraging e-mail from my swim trainer about my continued improvement in the pool. To me, it's not nearly as much improvement as I’d like, but it’s better than none at all. I also made a comment to him in passing about the importance of me ‘rewiring my brain’ in order to become a swimmer, and he agreed a bit too quickly. It’s not my breathing in the water as much as it is about my learning a process that my brain does not want to accept. Armed with that thought, my mid-week workouts were not as easy as I thought they’d be, but I’m still making trips to the pool. Anyway, it was nice to receive encouragement, I’ll take it. And it was a little birthday present, yes, my inner odometer clicked over a new digit on Monday. The digits are gettin’ high, but I’m still feeling as young as most of you mofos out there, let me tell you.)